I Feel Them Watching Me
by myself
Summary: DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED BOOK 7. Postwar but set before the epilogue. A war torn Harry struggles to accept that Voldemort is truly gone.


I feel them watching me.

I sense their magic as I step out of my door, grocery list clasped tightly in my palm. I won't be afraid.

I pick the trolley with the broken front wheel again, and it makes the screeching sound as I turn the corners round the aisles of Tescos. I like the familiarity.

I try not to walk past the library on the way home, but I can't help myself. I catch a glimpse dark hair hunched over a book, he looks up. His eyes meet mine and they glimmer red. I run.

One of the shopping bags splits as I pass the post office, cans of soup and bottles of shampoo smack to the floor, but my breathing is heavy and I do not hear them fall.

I reach home, fumble for the key, get inside, and barely have time to lock the door before I black out.

"I've already put that detector in his watch, there's not much else I can do."

"But by the time we've noticed his heart rate's increased he's bolted and we find him here every time. There's got to be a quicker way to get to him once his attacks start, or a way or knowing before they start."

Loud voices wake me and I know they're arguing again.

"I'm doing all I can Ron, I'm still researching, but he's not responding to anything we've already tried. You know what option we haven't tried." She sounds more defeated than she had the last time.

"And I've already told you, we're not sending Harry to some hyptist!" Ron's angry voice of protectiveness makes me smile.

"Hypnotist. It's a successfully proven treatment. Oh Harry, you're awake."

I open my eyes fully. "You argue loud enough to wake my neighbours."

Hermione folds her arms, "Well it certainly wasn't us who woke Mrs Johnston at two a.m. running up the stairs and slamming the door shut. Why Harry, why do you do your shopping that late? You know it's worse at night."

"But he was there again!" I exclaim. "I saw him, in the library, like always."

"The library shuts at 10pm Harry!" Hermione cries, exasperated. "No one was in there. You're hallucinating again. Have you been taking the medication?"

"No," I reply stubbornly, "I'm not going mad Hermione, and I'm not going to take some potion to alter my mind when I know I'm right!"

"Please just think about it mate," Ron steps in. "How could He be back? And why as a teenager?"

"Because that's where it all began!" Don't they understand? "That's when he first learned about the Horcruxes. What if Dumbledore was wrong? What if there were more than 7?"

Ron and Hermione don't reply.

"What if I'm right? It's him, I can just feel it. I see Him in my dreams at night, pouring over texts deep in dark magic. I feel the eyes of his new recruits whenever I leave the house."

"But why would he come back at that age _if _there was another Horcrux? Wouldn't he have stayed the same age, like last time?" Ron persists.

"No. Because last time he had no form, did he? He hid in Quirrel, and then in the diary. It wasn't until the Triwizard Tournament that he regained a body, and that was only because of the ritual Pettigrew performed. This time, he would have had to find another way, another body. So he found one that most matched him. A youthful body."

"Harry please, come and stay with us for a while." Hermione tries again. "Or with Ginny."

"No. I'm not endangering anyone else. Not again. He's at his most crucial stage at the moment, developing new powers, recruiting new Death Eaters; this is when I need to strike."

"But how?" Tears were beginning to form in Hermione's eyes.

She always cried.

"I'm not sure yet. I've been reading those books you had on Horcruxes, but I haven't found anything new yet. I can't be distracted from this. I have to save everyone."

"You already have! Two years ago, at Hogwarts. You remember Harry?" She clutches my arm tightly.

"Of course I remember, I remember every night. And then I see him reawaken."

Hermione drops my arm and Ron moves forward to hug her as she begins to sob.

"We'll be back later." Ron motions towards the fireplace. "Just stay here for the rest of the day. We'll bring over some food and cook dinner together all right?"

I don't say anything, but nod instead.

There is a flare of green from the fireplace and Ron and Hermione are gone.

I pick myself up and glance at the state of my apartment. A loaf of bread, two microwave meals, and a small packet of plain pasta litter the floor. I sigh. I'll have to go shopping again soon.

They return as promised. Just as the clock chimes seven the flames in my fireplace merge from a deep yellow to the exact colour of spinach (that's what I'd always thought anyway, Ron had given me an odd look and asked what spinach was whenever I used to mention this). Hermione busies herself in my kitchen immediately, laying the swordfish onto the grill and almost simultaneously began chopping up vegetables. Ron ushers me into the lounge.

"Ginny really wanted to come with us tonight, you know"

I drop my head. "Please Ron, don't bring this up. I'll speak to her when I'm ready to."

"She misses you."

"I know."

I turn on the television to ensure silence remains until dinner is ready.

"The swordfish was rather good actually, although Hermione does tend to over-cook potatoes; I was turning mine into mash before I realised. Ron didn't bring up Ginny again thankfully, although I do feel guilty about not returning her owls."

Draco chuckles, "I'm sure the Weaslette will cope."

"Are you allowed to say things like that?"

"I'm sure you won't tell anyone." He pulls a falsely concerned face.

Draco's my counsellor, odd as it may sound. He had started training immediately after the war, then, six months ago, Hermione comes to my door, telling me that she has the perfect candidate to council me. She says that if I can overcome my belief that Draco is an evil Death Eater, then I will, in time, come to believe that Voldemort has not returned. It seemed a pretty Hufflepuff job to me, helping others instead of helping yourself. I told him so in out first session.

I still have a slight dent in the side of my forehead from the punch that followed.

A few sessions later, when I asked him what he gained from his job, he smirked at me. He said that he knew the secrets of the world. He knew who the Minister for Magic was having an affair with, where and when the next Triwizard Tournament would be, who would win the next world cup, and even, how much the bottle of wine I had drunk last night had cost. A measly and pathetic three pound fifty.

"Really Potter," he had scathed. "If you're going to drink a bottle a night, at least do it with some class."

And he had invited me round to his, to "sample taste" as he had explained.

I never told anyone about that. I wasn't sure whether meeting outside of sessions was allowed, and I was certain that if I ever mentioned it to Hermione, I would not get to repeat the experience again, nor find a better counsellor.

I had always presumed he was married. When I remarked upon this he snorted with laughter, and boasted that why would he settle down now; he could get anyone he wanted. He would wait to see who persevered, who really deserved him.

His flat was much less…grand, than I had imagined. It was pretentious enough, but to anyone who knew Draco, it was a downgrade. I wondered idly when "Malfoy" had become "Draco".

His three bedroom flat overlooked a large formal garden area, and from the balcony, where I was currently standing, the warm air, mixed with the very nice white wine I was drinking, could only add to this feeling of pleasure.

I hadn't really eaten much before I had left my house, a few pieces of toast hadn't done much to satisfy my appetite, but since I was still too afraid to leave my flat, I didn't have many options. And I refused to ask anyone for help.

When I leave Draco's that night I feel something change. I feel it in the wind, in the leaves that scuffle the pavement, in my steps; in my mind. I'm suddenly alert and aware of every sound around me. I try and calm my breath like Draco taught me, deep breath in, and slowly release. It doesn't help; focusing too much on my own breathing would distract me from what's going on around me. It feels as thought the blackness is smothering me. I feel it getting closer and closer.

"Harry."

I spin around, wand out. Ready.

"You forgot your keys."

I shudder with relief.

"Sorry Draco, you startled me."

He gives me a long look.

"I wasn't…" I start, "I wasn't imaging things; I wasn't seeing Him. I just…felt something."

Draco hesitates. "Do you want me to walk back with you."

"Er," I falter for a moment.

"Excellent, I've always fancied a moonlit walk," Draco ignores my uncertainty.

"It's a new moon," I reply soberly.

"So it is," he replies absent-mindedly, as if I haven't just told him he's wrong.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Oh don't flatter yourself Potter, I quite often frequent down this road at night, there's a tramp who lives outside the old bowling alley who sings to me."

I snort. "Right."

"I even bring him presents in return, see."

He holds up a bottle of rose wine I hadn't noticed he'd been carrying. "Oh." We start walking.

"Why don't you Apparate? My flat's protected; no one can follow your trail from there."

"I just don't trust anywhere except my flat. I can't be certain."

"You don't trust me."

"I – I do." He actually looks hurt. "I just like being sure. Walking me home will make you a target though; they'll see you with me and-"

"So," Draco cuts me off. "Don't you think they would know that I'm your councellor by now? That makes me a target. I could be threatened, forced to take Veritaserum and spill your deepest secrets."

I look at him in shock. "Then why do you do it?" I hesitate. "What happens if you were captured?"

"Every day I take a potion, one that reacts specifically when it comes in contact with the ingredients in Veritaserum. It reacts in a way that it completely stops all the neurotransmitters in my brain, and high levels of melatonin are released. It knocks me unconscious almost immediately."

I can't seem to do anything but gape at him.

"It was all discussed," he continues. "Agreed and signed upon before I took you on as my patient Potter. People seem to think you're special."

"You're not supposed to call me Potter," I comment, distracted.

"We're not in my office."

"Yes, but it sounds weird. I'm so used to you calling me Harry."

"And it sickens me every time."

"You've been my counsellor for almost three years and I've yet to see you vomit. Don't be melodramatic."

"So crude, Potter." He emphasises my surname purposefully.

It doesn't take long to reach my place.

"So, this is me." I mumble, when I reach the entrance door to the block of flats.

"Nice building," Draco comments, before an awkward silence settles in.

"You didn't give the wine to your tramp." I notice he's still holding the bottle.

"He's not _my _tramp," he smirks. "Here, why don't you take it."

He hands me the bottle and before I can protest, turns, and walks away. I don't follow him.

"Mr Brooker to checkout number three. That's Mr Brooker to checkout number three."

I wheel the trolley down the diary aisle, the last one. Nearly finished.

I pick up some cheese, milk, and a few yogurts and then head to the checkout.

Breathe in. Unload my shopping. Breathe out. Begin packing it into the bags. One bag for frozen stuff, one for salad and fruit, one for meat, one for diary. Easy.

Breathe in. Pay. Cash. Cash can't be traced. Breathe out. Pick up my bags, start walking home.

Breathe in. Distract yourself. It's daytime. The library isn't for a few more minutes yet. Breathe out. Clench my hands to stop them shaking.

Breathe in. Don't look in. Don't look in. He isn't there. He isn't there. Breathe out. Made it past the library. I don't quite break in to a run, but my pace quickens so I'm power walking past people, not really playing attention to anything around me but the pavement, and it's leading me home.

I make it back okay. None of my bags split, and I'm fine, nothing happened. I lay on my bed for a while to catch my breath and rest for a moment. At least I've progressed a little, and that counts for something, doesn't it?

I haul myself off the bed and begin to unload the shopping.

I notice the bottle of Rose Draco had given to me standing clustered amongst others in the fridge door.

I pick up the receiver of the telephone and then pause. After I moment, I dial in the number, and it begins to ring. Anxiety wells up inside me and I'm about to put the phone down when I hear a voice.

"Hello?"

I freeze. I hadn't expected him to answer for some reason.

"Hello?" he repeats again.

"H-Hi." I finally stammer out.

"Who's this?"

"Oh, sorry, it's Harry." I blush, I feel like a complete idiot. This is why I prefer using the telephone to floo, much less personal; I don't like face-to-face contact. Hermione has said more than once that I wear my emotions on my sleeve; anyone can tell what I'm thinking. And that's dangerous.

"Harry?" He sounds more shocked than I would have imagined.

"Yes." I hurry on before I loose my nerve. "You gave me your number in our first session, remember, in case of emergencies."

"Is something wrong?" He sounds abruptly more alert. "Has something happened? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I hurry to reassure him. "Nothing's wrong. I just- I was wondering if you were free tonight?" I blurt out hurriedly.

"Free? Tonight?" I hear his voice change as he processes those words. "I am."

Well he wasn't going to make this easy then. "I was wondering if you wanted to, to come over? You know, share that bottle of wine you gave me, and I could always cook dinner maybe?" I say it quickly, all at once.

There was a pause. I hold my breath.

Why on earth had I thought this was a good idea? Despite being his patient for so long, outside of his office I still feel uneasy around him. In the office it's different. He always wears informal, casual clothes and tells me to call him Draco. He says it's a rule; everything had to be "personal", so the patient could feel more at ease, like they were talking to a friend. The sessions are relaxed, we watch some TV, I talk to him about what I've done that week, who I've seen, how much I've eaten. He comments, mocks sometimes, but that's just his personality, and for some reason that makes him the best councillor I've ever had.

"Can we make it tomorrow night?" He replies finally.

"S-sure."

"Some of us have work tomorrow you see." I can practically hear him smirking. He loves making comments on my job. "And tomorrow's Friday for those of us who keep track of things like dates and times."

"So, tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night." And he hangs up the phone.

I'm just about to settle down in front of the TV after when my fireplace turns deep green.

"Harry?"

It's Ginny. I realise I've completely forgotten to disconnect my floo network.

I get up and walk over to the fireplace.

"Hi." I mutter. I always feel awkward around Ginny. I feel guilty; that I left her, that I can see how much it hurts her, and how part of me still wants her.

"Are you free tonight?" she asks, gazing around the flat.

"Yes, I've just had dinner. I was only going to watch some TV this evening."

"Do you want to come over?" she says. "Just, you know, watch some films or something?" she adds, seeing my hesitation.

I don't have anything else to do, but I don't want to imagine how uncomfortable seeing Ginny might be.

She looks at me forcefully. "Please."

"Okay." The words came out of my mouth before I could realise what I'm saying.

She smiles. Come over in about an hour then. Bye." And her face disappears.

I don't want to have to stay long at Ginny's, so I don't floo to hers until two hours after she's spoken to me, when means it's already ten, so I can be out of there by twelve at the latest, if not earlier if Ginny has practice the next day.

"Harry," she says, and smiles, when I arrive, as if she's expected me to be late. She embraces me in an awkward kind of hug and invites me in, offering me some wine or beer, but I refuse: I don't feel like I can relax here.

We sit in relative silence for most of the night. I don't remember what film Ginny puts on, some sort of romantic comedy, I don't really pay much attention. All I can feel is her shoulder on mine, the move of her body as she breathes and the smell of her hair as odd strands fall across my chest.

She asks me how work is; if I know how much longer I will be on sick leave. Her inadvertent way of asking me how much longer it will be until I get better. A small smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth when I reply, "Indefinitely."

I manage to leave when the film finishes, shortly before twelve. She presses her lips to mine as we embrace. I allow her that, but do not respond. I can't encourage her. I won't put her in danger like I did last time. I was immature and irresponsible and impulsive. I've grown since then.

By the time six o' clock rolls around on Friday evening, I find myself incredibly nervous. I'm not sure why, it doesn't make sense, but I guess it still unnerves me to see Draco outside the office.

I've planned on making lasagne for dinner; it's relatively simple, and a popular meal. I realise I've never bothered to find out much about Draco. He's said he isn't allowed to talk about his personal life during sessions, and I've rarely seen him outside of them. Until now.

Draco arrives shortly after seven, not long after I've put the lasagne in the oven.

"So, how is it that you live so close to me? I hardly think it's a coincidence that we live in the same area." I begin, as we sit down on my sofa, glasses of the rose wine clutched in our hands.

He chuckles. "My bosses thought it would be useful if I lived close to you, in case of an emergency. We knew you'd previously shown problems with using the floo network so my location had to be within walking distance."

"Problems?"

"Aversions," he corrects.

"Oh." I reply silently. It never really occurs to me how much attention people pay to what I do. "Do you…mind?" I ask feebly. "Having to live near me?"

"Do I mind living rent free in a nice area of London?"

I blush.

"Of course, I could do better," he adds. "But, sacrifices must be made for the greater good." He pulls a dramatic face.

"Twat."

"Why people think you're so squeaky clean is beyond me, you've got more of a foul mouth than I have."

"What do you mean squeaky clean" I always skim over anything written about me.

"Well you're not very wild."

"Wild?" I ask, wondering why on earth anyone would want to be that. I've spent my teenage years in a mass frenzy. Now is the time for some peace.

"You know, no binge drinking, drugs, hookers and things like that. Well, maybe we can't rule out the drinking, but it's not as though you go out clubbing, drink, inject yourself, and wake up in the morning handcuffed to you bed surrounded by naked hookers. Unless there's something you're not telling me." He winks.

"I don't own any handcuffs." I manage at last. Wondering why I've chosen that part to reply to.

Draco gives me a scathing look before he leans close and whispers "magic", I feel a cold presence on my wrists, and look down to notice a pair of red fluffy handcuffs strapped across my wrists. My face turns the colour of the handcuffs.

"I thought I'd at least give you Gryffindor ones."

"Thanks," I muster.

Thankfully at that exact moment, the oven timer goes off. I leap up from the sofa, part in startle, part in my eagerness to decrease my embarrassment. Unfortunately, in my attempt to place my wine glass on the table, I forget about the handcuffs, and so end up knocking over the glass of wine, the light red contents spilling out onto the table.

Could this evening possibly get any worse?

And then I feel it.

Darkness. Complete and utter hatred and evil seeping through the cracks in my walls: through the windows, through the keyhole. I gasp. My hands and feet and whole body are trembling, I can literally feel my heartbeat increasing; faster and faster and faster until I think it will explode, tears ooze from my eyes, scalding my face as they fall, I feel my feet beginning to fail under me, I try to put my hands out to stop me falling, but the handcuffs which are still around my wrists prevent that; I hit my head on the table corner and then there is darkness.

"So explain the handcuffs to me again, Malfoy."

"Magic trick."

"Right."

Pain floods my body and consciousness ebbs back, I bite my lip and groan, cradling my head. "What happened?" I murmur, blinking my eyes open and seeing nothing but large blurry blobs. Someone hands me my glasses, and then the world comes into focus.

Draco, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all stand in front me. None of them look pleased.

Draco offers his hand to help me up.

"Thanks I mutter," taking the ice pack Ginny then hands me, and applying it to the large bump at the back of my head, just above my left ear. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Hermione shrieks. "You passed out that's what happened!"

"You went completely pale, and started muttering 'He's coming', before you fell over, knocked your head on the table and blacked out," Draco informs me, not breaking eye contact. It really unnerves me when he does that.

"I remember the oven timer going off," I say, trying to recall what had happened. "And then…" I pause, trying to remember. "And then I felt something, I felt darkness, evil, hatred. Him." I look to Draco for support; he's the only one who's really heard me talk about it.

"Harry," Draco leans forward, touching my right forearm, as if for support,or reassurance. "There wasn't anything. Or I would have felt it too."

I shake my head, "I know what I felt, alright." Anger begins to rise inside me. "Why doesn't anyone ever believe me?"

Ron moves forward this time. "We've all here because we care about you mate. Even the git here Malfoy."

"Hey, there's no need for name calling Weasel."

I half sit half fall onto the sofa, and rest my head between my hands. I have a splitting headache.

"Harry." It's Ginny who steps forward this time, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "There's something important I need to tell you. I wasn't planning on telling you for a while, until you were at least a little better, but I think this might actually help you want to get better, for yourself."

"What is it?" I ask.

She hesitates for a moment, as if unsure whether she wants to say it in front of Draco, Ron and Hermione, but then she takes a deep breath and looks me directly in the eye.

"I'm pregnant."

I think for a few minutes I forget how to breathe. Shock overwhelms my body.

"Who- whose is it?" I finally say.

She takes my hand. "It's yours, Harry."

I drop her hand. "Mine?" I ask, quite loudly now. "But how? When?"

She takes a few unsteady breaths, this time glancing nervously at the others behind her. Hermione give her one, reassuring nod.

"It was a Tuesday evening, two weeks ago," she begins, her hands shaking. "I had arranged to come over to talk to you about the Memorial Service; you'd said you'd wanted to hold it in Godric's Hollow this year. You must have forgotten that I had arranged to come over because you were out when I dropped by at about seven. Ron said you might be at a session, as you went in for evening ones sometimes, so I went home and decided to call back later."

I remember that day now. It had been a pretty average day until the afternoon, when I had gone to visit Professor McGonagall, to discuss the arrangements for the War Memorial Service this year. She had wanted it held at Hogwarts again, as it had been previously, but I felt it would be good to hold it at Godric's Hollow, to remind people of all the sacrifices, and lives saved during the war. Before I had even reached her office, I had bumped into a small group of third years. One of them had boldly walked towards me and cast a particularly nasty hex at me. I blocked it easily enough, but he had then proceeded to yell at me, shouting how his parents had sacrificed their lives for me and my cause, and I wasn't even grateful, I didn't even know their names. McGonagall had chosen than moment to appear, and silenced the boy at once, sending him to her office. But I fled.

I had gone straight to Draco's office and talked until late in the evening. Although I had felt better after my session, by the time I got home, about nine, all I wanted to do was drink and sleep for a very long time, to forget about what had happened. I don't remember much after the third bottle of wine. All I remember is waking late the next afternoon, and my flat in a complete state.

Ginny gives a small smile, as she sees the realisation dawning on my face.

"I decided to give you a few hours to finish your session; so I waited until ten to call back again. By which time you were in a state. Before I knew it you were kissing me, and well…" She trailed off.

Oh God.

"Harry," she says gently, taking my hand again. "You can be as involved as you want, I don't mind either way."

"Of course I want to be involved. It's my baby." I stand up startled that she would think I could ignore this news.

"Then you need to get better."

"What?"

"I want my baby to grow up with a father who's always around, and healthy, and well, and able to take care of him." She's crying now.

Realisation seeps into my brain. I'm going to have a baby. I'm going to be a father. I _want _to be a father. I don't want to be ill anymore, I want to be better, so I can make something for my family.

I look up; everyone's faces are tense, looking at me with expectance.

I nod. "I'll do whatever it takes. I want to get better."

Hermione bursts into tears, and Ginny lunges forward holding me in a tight embrace. "Thank you," she whispers over and over in my ear.

I look up at Draco, as if searching for approval. He nods once, but deeply, and I know I have his support. He will help me though this once and for all. I will get better.


End file.
